


Not A Man

by Anonymous



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Body Horror, Gore, Horror monster in a gamer wrapper, Minor Character Death, Monster Benrey, Not A Game AU, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24995638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When you trigger a royal screw up at a top secret classified inter-dimensional test and live to tell the tale, you’re bound to get a few government assassins sent your way to make sure you don’t blab to the world.Luckily for Gordon, they don’t pan out.
Comments: 41
Kudos: 395
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Before you read this fic I need to make one thing clear: I am not a writer. 
> 
> Writing is hard for me. I don’t really have a knack for it, and because of that I don’t do it often. My last piece of writing was from 2017, for god’s same. Like the world’s most fucked up cicada, I emerge from my hole in the ground every 3-5 years to spew out a little Drabble before returning to the depths of the earth. And currently, hlvrai has an iron grip on the part of my brain that produces serotonin.
> 
> I just want content of a fucked up Xen alien Benrey being protective towards his tiny human family, tbh. Also this was somewhat inspired by how Black Ops straight up tries to kill your ass during Half Life. It’s made very clear that the government doesn’t want Gordon to survive the cascade, so why would they leave him alone after?

All things considered, it’s looking to be an easy job. 

At least that’s the thought that crosses the man’s mind as he eyes the mildly dingy four story apartment complex across the road, shifting slightly from his perch on a rooftop from the opposite side of the street. Through the lens in his binoculars, he sees no movement behind the darkened glass panes and takes it as his cue. 

Shaking the pins and needles from his limbs, the man shoves his binoculars back in his bag, carefully making his way down the cat walk and flights of stairs hugging the side of the building before dropping silently into the alleyway below. A quick stretch before he starts skirting along the borders of light that are cast by the streetlights overhead, allowing the dark of night cover his tracks. 

It’s 3 a.m. on a Tuesday, the time of night on a weekday where every average lower middle class working joe in the building would be tucked snuggly into bed, preparing for the next day in an endless string of eight hour shifts and bleary, soul-sucking coffee-fueled mornings. 

Well, not everyone, the man thinks with a wry smile, running his fingers over the equipment strapped to his person. He’s on a shift of his own. 

And his job is in there. Apartment number B115, on the second floor. Late 20s. Shoulder length hair tied back into a ponytail, glasses. Crooked nervous smile and a slight upturn to his brows on his company I.D. that screams ‘I’m a flaky pushover, please bully me.’ A now former employee of the Black Mesa Research Facility. All of what he knew about his target, packed up nice and tidy in a manila folder handed to him by one of the big wigs in Washington. Made pointedly clear that it was all the information being offered.

And that was all that he needed to know, because if there was one thing that the man had learned during his years on the job, it was that you didn’t ask too many questions about it. As a black ops you were trained not to. You got enough information to get in, you did the job and cleaned up, and then you got out. Simple, and clean-cut. He didn’t care why this low ranking scientist had incurred the ire of the looming, all powerful invisible hand of the government. 

As if it weren’t already obvious, that is. Judging by the now smoldering crater that was now the Black Mesa Research Facility. With the recent catastrophic meltdown at the New Mexico base, and the impressively extensive amount of damage control, you had a crystal clear message that didn’t need explaining.

Gordon Freeman, as one of the only known survivors of the Resonance Cascade at Black Mesa, knew too much. And The Powers That Be wanted him to take the knowledge to his grave. 

It was a job that would require a certain amount of finesse, he had been told. And it was certainly one that those bumbling idiots down in HECU had failed to pull off while shit was actively hitting the fan. Do it quick. Do it silently. Make it look like an accident, or a suicide. Something that wouldn’t attract the attention of too many prying eyes. 

Hm. 

Suicide might work, the man thought as he quietly made his way up the complex stairs and to the front door, flicking his tools out with a practiced ease and setting to work on the locks. He knew about PTSD and trauma responses to disaster scenarios, and even with the media blackout surrounding the event, he had read enough of the case file to know that what happened in the desert merited both. How many had actually survived that ordeal? Maybe a handful, at best. Was it such a stretch to think that Mr. Freeman would be driven by survivor’s guilt to take his own life after such an event? 

The man hears a satisfying click from the lock, permitting himself a small smirk as he wraps his hand around the handle of the door and slowly, noiselessly pushes it open. 

It’s a mediocre-looking apartment, a small part of his brain nags in the back of his mind, carefully sliding his slim frame into the room proper and closing the door with a hushed click. Boringly average. A shitty couch occupies the small living room, mugs still half full and leaving rings on the coffee table sitting in front of it. There’s a dented old PlayStation 3 hooked up on the media center. To his left is the hallway leading further into the apartment, and assumedly towards his target. 

He’s halfway through the living room and about to step into the hallway proper, every movement poised as if walking on eggshells. If he makes this quick, there’s a chance that he could do the set up and be back home in time for-

“Hey uh.... you’re not s’posed to be here.”

......

What the fuck was that. 

The man’s neck cracks audibly from the speed at which he turns his head.

There’s a figure standing in the kitchen. 

Why is there a figure standing in the kitchen?

They’re looking at him, head cocked to the side like a curious dog, the slow lazy blink of their eyes reveal a highly reflective flash in their pupils. Like an animal’s. 

(Or a predator’s, the instinctual, panicky part of his own animal brain supplies.)

The figure’s build is fairly large and stocky, tall but not thin, with a pudgy middle and a large chest with broad set shoulders. An unruly mess of pitch black hair. Baggy sweats and a ridiculously old-looking t-shirt that has the PlayStation logo plastered all over it. One hand is leisurely scratching at their stomach. Every single aspect of their posture speaks of being positively bored. 

And they haven’t even fucking moved yet.

He swallows his surprise, and mild unease at the show of stoicism during a literal break-in.

And decides that whoever this is, they’ve made the worst mistake of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

It takes all of two seconds to decide what he needs to do, and without another moment spared he surges forward, hand flying to the combat knife strapped to his hip. He only had one target tonight, but that didn’t change the one golden rule that was held above all else: there could be no witnesses. He would clean the mess up, deal with the fall out of another death later, but right now he had a job to do and no fucking weirdo standing in a dark kitchen would stop him. The knife hits home, and sinks into the figure’s neck with a satisfying meaty squelch. 

And the figure doesn’t move. 

Doesn’t cry out or gurgle around the rivulets of blood currently gushing out of their neck. Just stands there and stares with that same bored, uninterested expression. 

The complete lack of reaction makes his brain fizzle out for a few precious moments, the two of them standing in silence, eyes locked. 

In the dark of the apartment the figure smiles. It’s all wrong. Like someone had taken the jaws of an animal and crammed them into a human mouth. All jagged teeth, glistening with saliva in the dim light. His blood runs cold as he feels a hand wrap around his knife arm in a vice-like grip. 

Oh. 

“Yooo bro you wanna see a cool trick?”

This man is not a man. 

There’s a sharp crack as the figure’s face shifts, a red line starting at his jaw and splitting downwards and upwards. The visceral sound of skin and muscle ripping as the two halves of this thing begin to separate. He tries to pull away as the figure’s rib cage splits vertically, free hand desperately scrabbling at the death grip around his wrist. There’s teeth. There’s teeth and eyes as the ribs fan out like the petals of some demented macabre flower, white bone and flesh alike embedded with razor sharp fangs. More eyes than he could count blinking wildly from the gorey confines of the chest cavity. 

His insides spill forth into a horrific tangle, and the man realizes with an overwhelming sense of dread that they aren’t intestines as he had previously thought. They’re tentacles. A scream builds in his throat. A scream that won’t come as one of the long sinewy appendages has already wrapped itself around his neck, crushing his vocals and cutting off air. Another slithering around his legs and waist, and his blood runs cold as he realizes that he’s being dragged forwards.

The last thing he sees are rows and rows of teeth. 

———————————————————

Benrey is standing alone in the dark kitchen. 

Gordon Freeman pinches the bridge of his nose, and lets out a long suffering sigh. 

He does that a lot, he has come to realize. Ever since he crawled out of Black Mesa with a brand new arm and a metric fuckton of mental health issues that he’s still dealing with to this day. 

Standing in the hallway in the odd hours of the night with one hand rubbing at his face and the other holding the tinier hand of his five year old son, who had crawled into his bed asking for a glass of water. 

Looking at his enigmatic, possibly extra-dimensional, sort of maybe room mate.

Standing alone in the dark. 

“Benrey,” the name comes out with a snort, “what are you doing?”

“Hm?”

In the dim room Gordon can see a brief flash of light, indicators that he has caught the attention of the dark figure. There was once a time when the sight of Benrey’s strangely reflective pupils had instilled a great sense of fear in him. Now more so, annoyance. 

“What- what are you doin, man? It’s like... the middle of the night why are you just... standing here?”

The eyes flicker away to glance off to the side, and he can practically see the gears in Benrey’s head turn.

“Oh uh. You know jus’..... chillin’.”

Gordon feels Joshua tug impatiently at his pant leg, and with a quick huff he reaches out towards the light switch on the wall. 

“Okay. Whatever. I’m turning on the lights so Joshie can- holy FUCK!”

Whatever train of thought he previously had is viciously derailed by the sight before him, hands flying over to grab at his son. There’s a large puddle of what can only be blood on the kitchen tile, right at Benrey’s feet. Benrey himself is another mess entirely. It’s as if someone had exploded in front of him and had left a vertical strip of bright glistening gore, starting from the top of his head and ending at his feet. 

He’s as emotionless as always, and only gives him that lazy blazed out blink in response. 

“Oh uh... yeah what’s up?”

“WH-what do you mean what’s up?? What happened?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me man I-“

“Huwha?”

“Benrey you better tell me what the fuck happened in my kitchen or I swear to GOD-“

“Benny!”

Joshua chirps up from his location at his father’s side, clinging to his pant leg and biting his lower lip in worry. At the sound Benrey glances down, and it’s as if a switch has been flipped as he cracks an easy smile. 

“Oh hey lil man. Tiny uh... Gordon 2. What’s wrong you have a nightmare? A little epic fail?”

The boy visibly brightens and moves forward as if to run into the kitchen before Gordon catches his arm. 

“No! Nonono we are not hugging Benrey while he’s covered in blood!”

“Oh whaaaat? That’s lame man this ain’t- this ain’t blood.”

“Oh yeah?” The skepticism is practically a physical thing that drips from Gordon’s tongue. “Then what is it, Benrey? Hm??”

He waits for a response as the eldritch thing glances around wildly once more, clearly attempting to formulate a retort. 

“.... ‘s tomato juice. I had the uh... the snackies. Late night juicin’.”

“... That’s not tomato juice.”

“Yes it is.”

“We don’t have any tomato juice!”

“That sounds like a you problem.” 

Gordon feels like he’s going to have an aneurysm.

God. Honestly, what was he expecting? For Benrey to suddenly become coherent?

He closes his eyes and takes a few deep even breaths, trying to will his blood pressure to lower before opening them again and fixing the other man in a pointed glare. 

“Ya know what?” The scraggly, clearly sleep-deprived man throws his arms in the air. “Fine! It’s my fault anyways for expecting a clear answer from you.” 

Gordon briskly moves to the side to grab a small cup from the drying rack, making sure to give Benrey a wide berth as he fills it with water and hands it off to his waiting son. Joshua can’t tear his eyes from the other man in the kitchen however, still biting his lip and fidgeting with clear anxiety. 

“Benny’s okay?” His tiny hands grip at the cup. “He’s not hurt?”

Gordon can’t help but give him a warm smile at that, reaching forwards to give him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. His son has always been an empathetic kid, and given how childish his room mate acted, he and Benrey had gotten along like two peas in a pod. The scene before him had no doubt worried him. 

“Yeah bud. Benrey’s okay. Like he said he just had a uh.... a tomato juice... accident.” 

“Fail moment, lil man. Goin’ in my criiiiinge comp...”

Benrey, to his credit, does his best to reassure the small child as well, though with his stoic face and terrifying red visage he can only do so much.

Gordon sends Joshua off to bed before turning around to stare at the other man, fingers tapping wildly at his countertops in a fit of manic energy as he mills his thoughts over. 

“... You’re cleaning this up. And you’re cleaning yourself up too before you touch any of my furniture, or I swear to god I’m making you sleep outside.”

———————————————————

It’s shortly after turning in for bed that Joshua creeps into Gordon’s room, tugging gently at his father’s sleeve and asking for permission to sleep with him tonight. He figures that maybe seeing Benrey in the kitchen might’ve put him on edge, and frankly Gordon can’t blame him. The man simply lifts the covers in response, allowing his son to curl in next to him. 

It’s shortly after that when Benrey finally decides to slink into the room like some weary animal, eyes flashing in the dark, clothes absolutely spotless. As if nothing previous had happened at all. 

Gordon eyes him critically as the other man flops onto the bed next to a sleeping Joshua, the boy out cold and laying between the two.

“Excuse me?” His voice comes out in a hushed irritated whisper, unwilling to chance waking his son up. “This is my bed. What makes you think you can crawl into my bed.”

Benrey only gives a nonchalant shrug in response. “Everyone else was doin’ it.”

“Josh is my son.”

“Yeah?”

“... you don’t see anything wrong with this picture of you, an adult man that I have known for about six months, crawling into my bed.”

“... No?”

Once again, Gordon Freeman pinches the bridge of his nose, and eventually, silently, relents. If months of living with the walking anomaly has taught him anything, it’s that sometimes Benrey’s actions were less malicious and more so genuinely naive. Sometimes. 

He rubs at his face before laying his head back down on his pillow. Utterly exhausted and at this point unwilling to care. 

“You’re really not gonna tell me about what happened.”

It’s more like a statement than a question, and it’s one that elicits a freakishly wide grin from the other, a smile filled with too many teeth. 

“Nope.” Benrey pops the ‘p’ sound at the very end, as if to punctuate the finality of it. 

Gordon rolls his eyes, but let’s out a small huff all the same. To be completely honest, he hadn’t expected a straightforward answer. And he supposed that he should take what he could get. “Fine. Just... don’t do that again.”

“Can’t promise that, bro.”

Yeah. That’s definitely about as good of an answer that he will ever get.

They stay like that, Gordon nearly drifting off to sleep before catching sight of Joshua shifting, the boy rolling over onto his right side to tuck himself against Benrey’s chest. Tiny hands curling into the fabric of his shirt. The alien blinks owlishly down at the action, seeming to be at a complete loss before finally curling his body inwards.

The last thing Gordon perceives before submitting to blissful unconsciousness is a deep rumbling noise, low and steady and sounding as if it were coming from something much bigger than himself. Almost like a purr.


	2. And now, for something a little different...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Benrey, in a rare bout of self-reflection, makes a realization that changes everything. 
> 
> Or arguably, nothing.

It’s still the early hours of the morning when benrey hears the soft patter of bare feet on the floor, that tells him his all night gaming session of Heavenly Sword was about to be unceremoniously interrupted. 

He squints, and glances over to his side. Well, maybe not ‘all night’ any more. It had been a few hours since the first streams of sunlight began filtering in between the window blinds. 

Benrey doesn’t look away from the screen as he senses a small body shamble towards the couch, lifting his arms without missing a beat in his game to allow the kid to ball his tiny fists into the fabric of his shirt and heft himself up. 

“Lil baby man finally up? Done bein’ unconscious?”

Joshua sits criss-cross on the larger man’s stomach and rubs sleepily at one eye, his other arm curled firmly around his favorite stuffed horse. From behind his hand Benrey can see the boy’s face harden into an exasperated stare, and it takes a great amount of effort on his part to not bark with laughter. It’s uncanny sometimes, how much of Gordon he can spot in the miniature human currently using him as a glorified seat. A strange quirk with life forms that pass on genetics. 

“‘M not a baby.”

“Sleeping is for noobs. If you were a pro gamer like me you wouldn’t have to.”

Which is... a half lie. Sort of lie. Maybe. If Josh were like him, he _wouldn’t_ have to sleep. But Josh will never be like him. 

By this point he’s pretty aware that all humans must sleep, or they’ll fizzle out and die in the stupidest way imaginable. Something about their spongey little brains shutting down, or organs failing. Imagine spending half of your already short lifespan being unconscious. At first he thought it was a joke. 

Joshua however, has heard this monologue before, and elects to not be goaded into a debate. Which is a step up from his dad. What a champ.

“‘M hungry.”

“Then get Feetman to make some food for you?”

The boy picks absentmindedly at a few stray hairs on his stuffed horse. “Daddy’s still sleeping.” Joshua lifts his head back up to fix Benrey in a hopeful gaze, giving him the most puppy-eyed look that he can feasibly muster. “Can you make breakfast?”

He pauses. 

_Can he?_

He’s never cooked before. 

Because cooking is a _human_ thing. Seemingly born from their innate desires to make absolutely everything unnecessarily complicated. And along with many other things, like sleeping, he’s never had to do it. So he doesn’t. If he wants to eat something, he just eats it.  
End of story. You don’t see him dressing up a hunk of dead animal cells to be something that it’s not. Why can’t they do the same?

But. Joshua is still looking at him with those impressively wide puppy eyes, and (like always) it causes something to turn and tighten within the confines of his chest. 

Damnit. 

Benrey grabs Joshua by his ankle and with one fluid motion rolls off of the couch and onto his feet, the boy giving a yelp of surprise before devolving into a fit of giggles as he hangs upside down from his grasp. Tiny face turning red and grinning. There’s something about the pure joy coming from the kid as he swings helplessly like a little monkey that brings a genuine grin to Benrey’s face. Still filled with jagged teeth but soft around the edges. 

“Kay lil man.” He makes it over to the kitchen before stopping short in realization, Joshua still squealing with delight as he swung uselessly upside down. 

What do human kids eat again?

The inside of his head might as well be fucking empty. The Eldritch being digs hopelessly through his own brain, singling out and prodding the scavenged, stolen part of it that resembles something more like a man and less like a monster. Like always, it spits out an incoherent mess in return. 

“... You want uh..... freesh fries? Freesh fries good?”

Joshua giggles some more, trying to twist around. “Nooooooo!”

“Cheeseburrip?”

The boy’s giggles erupt into full blown laughter at that. “Noooo Benny! I want eggs ‘n bacon!”

“Huh?” 

“And toast!”

Damn. That’s a... that’s a tall order. Big list of stuff. Cool, cool. What did this kid think he was, some kinda chef? 

Whelp. Eggs and bacon it is. 

Benrey swings the boy right side up before dropping him onto his feet, being careful to not let him knock his little head into any nearby objects. Or sharp corners. Gordon had given him an hour long lecture about it once, and Benrey would never fucking hear the end of it if he ever let that happen to the man’s precious spawn. 

He hears Joshua make a few excited hops as he hurries over to the counter to watch him cook, staring intently as Benrey opens up the fridge and grabs what he needs. 

Eggs and bacon. Eggs. And bacon. The eggs were the little round bitches in the cardboard box, and he’s pretty sure the bacon was those slabs of meat on the top shelf? 

Benrey grabs a plate and cracks the eggs open on it, watching as the translucent sludge pools together on one side of the dish. The bacon comes next, carefully laying out the strips side by side. This cooking thing is a bit easier than he thought. 

“Alright, Josh-Man,” He turns around to brandish his creation, sliding the plate on the counter in Joshua’s direction. “Eggs and bacon. Boneappleteeth.”

Damn, he’s good. He feels like he could really give himself a pat on the back with this one. Isn’t this what any normal human guy would want? A good partner that can feed their kid? He can practically _hear_ Gordon’s heartfelt admiration at his stellar Human Parenting skills. Maybe even a kiss. Fuck yeah.

His high, however, is short lived as Joshua only blinks quizzically at the sight before him, seemingly at a loss for what to do. Maybe he doesn’t know how to eat it? Benrey reaches over and grabs a strip of bacon before popping it into his mouth as a demonstration. The flavor is salty but still largely unappetizing to him. 

Eat, little human! Eeaaaattt. 

Joshua merely cocks his head at him, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. 

“You gotta cook it, Benny! On the stove. Daddy says you get sick if you eat it uncooked!”

Oh. 

Right. 

Man, how did humanity even survive this long? How could a bunch of hairless monkeys evolve to be the dominant species on this miserable little rock when a stray piece of uncooked meat could utterly wreck their shit?

It’s okay. It’s fine. He can do this. 

“Oh uh. Yeah. Was jus’ testin’ you. Good job.”

Benrey digs through the cupboard with all the grace of a bull in a china shop before finally pulling out a flat pan, dropping it down on the stove with a little too much force and unceremoniously dumping the plate’s contents into it. It takes a few more moments of squinting in concentration at the stove’s dials before shrugging and cranking a nob up as high as it would go. That’s good enough. 

The man turns back to Joshua, who is currently kicking his legs out against the side of the table. Waiting patiently. 

“So what’s on the to-do list today, my man?”

“Cowboy wedding!”

He doesn’t even try to hold back the snort of incredulous laughter, eyebrows upturned in playful questioning as he leans again the table. “Cowboy wedding...?”

“Yeah!” Joshua throws his arms out, “for Gus and Clint!”

Oh. That’s right. His little dolls. 

“We gotta do a big wedding for the cowboys!”

Joshua continues to ramble unabashedly about his grand plans for toy ceremonies, and Benrey can’t help but smirk as he sees the boy gesticulate wildly. He’s probably listened to his hour long info dump about cowboys several times by now, but he’s prepared to listen to it some more.

He’d do anything for Joshie, if he were to cut the bullshit and be completely honest with himself. If it’d only make him happy, he’d listen to his shpeels all day every day. Would sit through a thousand toy weddings. 

Would cook him eggs and bacon. 

And maybe it’s that train of thought that stops his already scattered brain dead in its tracks. His mind becoming hazy with realization. 

When did it get like this?

When did he become so wrapped around Joshua’s little finger?

Oh...

Oh god. 

_He’s been domesticated._ By a tired divorced dad and his little shit kid. 

A part of him (the part of him that had ripped itself from Xen and snuck off to chase the sweet siren call of an open doorway, and crawled inside the skin of a hapless security guard a dimension away) recoils at that. Recoils at the thought of tying itself down to the whims of _anything_ , let alone a couple of squishy short-lived aliens. 

He’s deep in thought about whether or not he should be worried about this, whether he should pull back now while he still can, when a sharp yelp rouses him from his thoughts. 

“Benny! The stove’s on fire!”

Oops.

——————————————————

The eggs and bacon are burned to a miserable blackened crisp, and after a few good prods to the rock solid lumps he comes to the conclusion that they’re a lost cause. Josh opens a few windows to air the smoke out of their shitty apartment. The alien gets a solemn promise from him not to mention the mishap to his dad as he dumps the ruined food into the trash. 

Benrey makes the executive decision that cereal is also good. 

Which is a good thing, really. Mostly because Joshua actually knows how to make it, and instructs Benrey. No stove required. 

He’s halfway through pouring milk into the carefully constructed bowl of cereal when he hears the distinct click of a door being opened down the hallway, the sluggish shuffle of feet against the carpet. Gordon walks in like a zombie reborn from the dead, rubbing at his eyes and yawning before stopping to sniff the air quizzically. 

“Is... something burning?”

Benrey can feel the man’s gaze burrowing into him. 

“Huh? Naaah you’re just... Feetman jus’ imaginin’ things.”

Gordon stares for a few more moments before sighing and opting to let it go, instead looking over towards his son and frowning. 

“Oh geez, I’m sorry Joshie. You could’ve woken me up if you wanted breakfast.”

To which Joshua merely shrugs in return. 

“It’s okay! Benny made me breakfast!”

His dad startles at that, blinking wildly.

“He did?”

Gordon whips his head around in the other man’s direction. 

“You _did?_ ”

“What, like it’s hard?”

It was so fucking hard, but he’d sooner die than tell Gordon that. 

And Gordon’s features, in turn, soften. And Benrey almost asks him if there’s something wrong with his face, because he’s never seen the human’s eyebrows upturn so slightly in such a way. Or the corners of his mouth pull back into a small, but honest smile. 

“That was..... really cool of you, Benrey. Thank you.”

Gordon turns to sling an arm around Joshua’s shoulders and tugs him close to his chest, leaning down to give him a small peck on his forehead. The boy smiling and leaning into the contact. 

And something about the scene makes Benrey’s insides squirm. 

Not in the way that means he’s hungry. Not in a bad way, either. It’s a... good sort of squirming. Warm. Makes him feel all soft. 

Makes him want to wrap himself around the two and never let go.

———————————————————

The first intruder in his house meets his demise in the kitchen, leaving a splatter of blood across the tile floor. 

The second one doesn’t even make it past the front door before he’s dragged backwards through the complex halls by an unseen assailant, and ends in the sickening crunch of teeth on bone and flesh. And as his form knits itself back together, he starts to think. 

He has never loved. 

He has never loved. Because much like sleeping, and cooking, love was a human thing. Something that he would’ve never, should’ve never done. 

... Was this love?

———————————————————

He’s lost.

His home is somewhere far, far away. And there’s no going back. 

The door has been sealed shut. 

Black Mesa has made sure of that. 

But if Benrey cannot have Xen, he will sink his claws deep into this shitty two bedroom apartment on the second floor. He will have Gordon and Joshua.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops back out from my hole in the ground* actually I have more to say.
> 
> And I guess I’ll start by saying: thank you. Thank you for all of your kind words and warm reception to the first chapter. I’m not joking when I say I was fully ready to toss this fic into the wind and never, ever look at it again. The amount of kudos, comments, and compliments that it got absolutely blew me away. I was honestly not expecting any kind of attention like that. 
> 
> And I can truthfully say that those wonderful comments spurred me to make another little chapter that had been stewing in the back of my mind since first posting. An add-on to this story, mainly focusing on Benrey and how, well, weird and alien he is. And how this sort of thing (this domestic thing) isn’t in his nature, but regardless he still wants it. 
> 
> Was still hard as shit to write, though. Benrey is hard, anyways. But trying to make him reflective and thoughtful? REALLY hard. 
> 
> And there’s still a lot of glaring problems with it. But I’ve already written it. So here’s to the hope that someone out there might enjoy it. 
> 
> Thank you again.

**Author's Note:**

> Tfw your weird gamer roomie eats a guy that was sent to kill u.
> 
> Ok I’m going back into my hole see ya’ll in another 3 years.


End file.
